


Approval

by kechiwrites



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Angst, Deepthroating, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, No Aftercare, Oral Sex, Orgasm Denial, Police!Karasuno, Rough Sex, Ushijima is mean, Vaginal Sex, Verbal Humiliation, Yakuza!Shiratorizawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:48:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27714316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kechiwrites/pseuds/kechiwrites
Summary: “Toshi’s hands linger on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing up and down the side of your throat and you think, you hope to God he will kiss you and press his forehead against yours like he does when you’re alone and he’s content and comfortable and pliable under your fingers. But he doesn’t kiss you.”
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 64





	Approval

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is crossposted on tumblr as my entry for the Smut Pile Server's Mafia AU collab, you can check out all the other fics via the masterlist [here](https://present-mel.tumblr.com/post/635337969213014016/the-smut-pile-mafia-collab-live-on-1122). enjoy!

It’s freezing. **  
**

The cold metal chair beneath you, the even colder table under your hands. Even the coffee in the styrofoam cup Lt. Sugawara places in front of you is chilled. You drink it anyway, follow it with the granola bar he slides you because it’s the first thing you’ve eaten in hours. 

“We’ll be letting you go soon. I’m sorry about this. I know you’ve been here a while.” His gaze is soft, and his smile curves to match. You keep your eyes on the mole above his cheek as he continues to speak. Too pretty to be a cop, you think, but before you can say anything to embarrass yourself, the heavy concrete door of the investigation room swings open, welcoming a gust of warmer air. Goshiki stands in the doorway, his face uncharacteristically stoic. The street captain is flanked by two equally grim-faced officers, one of which has his hand resting where you assume his gun sits holstered. 

“Y/N. Time to go.” 

You don’t hesitate to scoot the chair back from the desk, the metal scraping noisily against the stone floor. Before you can make it across the room to where he’s waiting, Sugawara grabs your arm and pitches his voice down to a whisper;

“Think about what we said. He’s not your only option.” 

You know he’s trying to help in his own way. And you still don’t quite understand why. After all, you hadn’t given the lieutenant what he needed, stayed tight-lipped about Ushijima’s operation for an achingly uncomfortable six hours. And you appreciated the whispered sentiment but he couldn’t possibly know what it looked like to Goshiki, what it would sound like to Ushijima when the enforcer inevitably reported back to his boss. You bob your head numbly. 

“Y/N.” Goshiki’s voice is louder now and you pull out of the officer’s grasp to scamper behind your retriever.

“Goshiki.” The grey-haired man greets solemnly, “So rare to see without your leash. It suits you.” 

“Don’t you have some criminals to catch, Lieutenant?” 

“As a matter of fact, I have my eye on one right now.” The lieutenant’s smile stretches wide over his face as he speaks, eyebrows upticking quickly. 

Goshiki’s responding laugh is bitter, and when he turns to leave the police station you’re quick to follow. Down concrete steps and out into the warm summer air you can breathe just a little bit easier.

The car is waiting outside, sleek black and intimidating as always. You don’t recognize the man behind the wheel, but it’s just as well, Ushijima Wakatoshi has dozens if not hundreds of men underneath him, some are bound to slip through the cracks of your memory. Still, the man smiles at you when he catches your eye, and you dip your head in return before sidling into the plush back seat. Goshiki closes the door behind you and circles around to sit in the passenger seat. The car has barely peeled out of the parking lot when Goshiki raises his phone to his ear. The sight of it pushes your heart into your throat, and as much as you strain to catch what’s being said on the other side, what you know to be Wakatoshi’s voice is too faint to be heard.

“We have her.”

“No, sir. Sugawara.” After this the enforcer is quiet for a long while, nodding along to whatever Toshi is saying, despite being on the phone.

In the rearview mirror, he meets your eyes and lowers his voice, not enough for you to miss his gentle; “I can’t be certain. He told her something, I couldn’t hear.” The driver shifts uncomfortably and you can swear the car moves just the littlest bit faster. 

Usually, the drive from the city back to Ushijima’s estates is a comfortable one, the gentle rumble of the car enough to lull you into sleep. But the tenseness of Goshiki’s shoulder and the sight of the driver’s white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel prevents you from closing your eyes any longer than it takes to blink. Even with the air conditioning noisily blowing cool air into the car, sweat collects in beads at your temple and behind your knees. You ball your hands into fists to stave off the shaking. 

When the car finally slows down in front of the main house, you stumble out the door, hand meeting gravel to stop your face from meeting the pavement. Goshiki is quick to usher you from the car into the main house, hand tight around your upper arm. When you finally take a good look at his expression, bile rises in your throat. His eyes are shining, his mouth pulled up tight to stop himself from smiling. Like a dog about to be praised by his master. 

Even with Goshiki almost dragging you forward, the walk down the corridor is uncomfortably long, Toshi’s men are posted on every couch and surface framing the hallway, every doorway guarded. You meet the gaze of a few you do recognize and give a small, wobbling smile in greeting. But nobody smiles back at you. They avert their eyes or turn completely. You try not to take it personally. Word has already spread of where you’ve been. They’re waiting for approval. 

So are you. 

The door to Toshi’s office looms before you, and when it swings open, the man is sitting on the leather couch. King of the castle, arms crossed, face stoic, and you can’t tell if the absence of his advisor, Tendou, yapping at his side is a good thing or a death sentence. His eyes snare yours immediately and you pull your arm out of Goshiki’s grasp, stepping forward.

“Toshi I-”

He holds his hand up to silence you. “What did you say to them?” It was just barely a question, a thinly veiled accusation from the man who was supposed to protect you, love you. Now, standing before him you weren’t even sure he liked you. In his gaze, you felt so… _little_. Like you were waiting for a parent’s scolding. Your throat is burning with unshed tears and all you can think of is what the lieutenant and his partner had said to you. 

_“Look, you and I are both aware you know more than you’re letting on and I promise we can help you.” Sugawara had been crouched near your chair, hand covering yours while Sawamura stood by the closed door, hands deep in his pockets. “But first, you need to help us. Ushijima has a pile of bodies under his foot and I’m trying to stop you from becoming another one. I know he’s big and powerful and scary, but you don’t need to hide behind him. Not on this. Let us help you.”_

You’d kept your mouth shut, even when you’d wanted to bite back at them for speaking to you like a child. Of course, you had. Anything less than stony silence and Goshiki wouldn’t have even bothered coming to get you.

_“You don’t belong to him.”_

But you did. And it had happened so gradually you weren’t even sure you’d tried to stop it. He’d asked for little parts of you at first. Your number, your address, your time. Then you’d stopped working because he didn’t want you walking home at night. Then you slept in his bed because it helped him sleep better, then you made his meals, folded his shirts, told his lies, buried his bodies all without a second thought. 

“I didn’t tell them anything cause I didn’t _know_ anything!” You snap at him, the day had been long and hard and so fucking cold that you can’t bear the stress anymore. The relief it brings is short-lived, and when Wakatoshi’s hand tightens into a fist at his lap, you know that raising your voice to him was a step too far. 

“Leave us.” His voice reverberates in your spine, and you _pray_ he’s talking to you, but his eyes are on the man behind you. Goshiki bristles at the quick dismissal and you know it’s just another small humiliation that’ll inevitably push him harder. He wants a seat at the grown-up table, as Tendou had once said. “Babysitting” was just him paying his dues.

Just the two of you are in the room now, and Toshi settles further into the chair, knees spreading apart. His command is silent, but you heed it all the same. You’re ashamed to be a little relieved at the familiarity of sinking down into the space he’s made for you. But you are so unused to being under his scrutiny that any intimacy or gentleness is so welcome. 

For a moment, Toshi’s hands linger on your shoulders, his thumbs brushing up and down the side of your throat and you think, you hope to _God_ he will kiss you and press his forehead against yours like he does when you’re alone and he’s content and comfortable and pliable under your fingers. But he doesn’t kiss you, his touch leaves you to slide open the zip of his pants. He slips his cock out of the open fly and pulls you in closer until the heat of it warms your cheek. Your lips part to welcome him, the head of his sex slipping past to cover your tongue. It’s hard not to feel drunk on the salt and skin taste of Toshi as he hardens in your mouth. You slide him in deeper, inch by inch, not pausing until he’s seated snugly down your throat, your eyes and nose dripping with the effort. You try to pull off but his hand keeps your head close, nose pressed to his groin. You meet his eyes and whimper when you realise he’s been staring, olive eyes glaring. Your tongue is pressing insistently against the angry vein on the underside of his dick when he finally pulls you off him, pulling you up until you were straddling his thighs. The skirt you’re wearing is bunched up around your hips and Toshi slips his hand further under it to slide your underwear to the side, baring your pussy to his exploring fingers. He stretches you methodically, fingers pushing up into the grip of your cunt and scissoring open and closed.

You can feel everything when Toshi finally pushes into the tight, slickness of your cunt. Your knees sinking into plush, squeaking leather, your sweaty palms clenching in the fabric of his shirt, the metal of his zipper scratching against the soft skin of your ass. His hands grope at your chest while you ride him, calloused fingertips brushing over soft sensitive skin until you’re almost crying. His teeth drag over the vulnerable flesh of your throat while the ridge of his nail catches your nipple with malice. The sounds of his thighs slapping rhythmically against yours almost drown out the sound of your cunt accepting him over and over, parting to make way for his cock unimpeded. He takes you like that for what feels like hours, lifting and dropping you repeatedly, like he was trying to hammer his shape into you. Your legs shake and tense with an oncoming climax, your toes curling while you hold your breath.

Toshi grabs you just below your hips, pulling you off of his lap completely. Before you can mourn the orgasm drawing away from you, he pulls you down towards the couch, making quick work of repositioning himself. You try to reorient yourself, pushing up from the sofa on all fours, but he runs a hand up your sweat-slicked back, resting between your shoulder blades to press you back down. Wakatoshi realigns himself against your heat, sinking back in with a soft sigh. It’s the first noise he’s made since you’d yelled at him and the sound of it lightens the fear in your chest just the tiniest bit, even while Toshi brings his hips to yours.

And then he doesn’t do anything.

“Wha-” You crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Above you, Toshi’s expression is grim, mouth downturned. Even with the flush of his cheeks and the laboured rise and fall of his shoulders, his stare is so cold. 

It makes you wanna cry.

“You can do it,” he murmurs, “Prove yourself.” There’s about a thousand things you could say to that, a thousand ways you could tell him to go fuck himself. But the words are stuck in your throat, pushed down by fear and anxiety and the desperate need to please him, to ensure him that you’re still on his team, still in his hand. So you don’t say any of them. Instead, you take a couple of shuddering deep breaths and let your forehead rest against your hands. You arch your back and raise your hips, pushing up and back, trying to regain your rhythm. True to his word, Toshi remains unmoving, too hot hands cemented around your waist.

For you, for your own tiny act of rebellion, you keep his cock only halfway inside for a while, Never letting the tip of his member leave your heat but refusing to slide all the way back. Without warning, you’re pulled back onto Ushi’s cock sharply, the roughness of it forces a groan from you. He fucks into you, pausing only to pull both of your arms behind you, wrists captured in one of his hands. 

“You know there is nothing out there for you. Everything you are, everything you have, I gave you. I made you.” His voice is so even and measured, even as he pushes your body to make way for him. What kills you is that you know he believes it. That it’s a universal truth. You know that’s how he sees you, how they all see you. And you’re starting to believe it too. 

His nails dig into your skin as he fucks you, dragging you back towards him, pounding into the pulpy sweetness of your pussy. 

You wish you could _really_ enjoy it. You wish you could take the time to enjoy the silence, but you know it’s not the same. You know he’s furious and that it’s anger that roils under the surface of his skin. You can feel it when he touches you. It takes everything in him to restrain himself. He’s gritting his teeth so hard you think they might shatter. And he won’t kiss you. _That’s the worst of it,_ you think. Even with him so close to you, even with him huffing with exertion into the nape of your neck, he won’t turn your head and bring his lips to yours. Because he’s _punishing_ you. 

It doesn’t take much longer for him to come, he releases your arms and your shoulders burn with the relief. His hand clamps down on the back of your neck as he empties himself into you, pulling out roughly and coating the backs of your thighs with the remainder. The cold returns when he draws away from you, leaving you almost shivering while he tucks himself away, fixes his shirt where you’ve messed it up. You haven’t finished and another ruined orgasm ebbs away. You could almost scream with frustration. 

You sit up, uncaring of the mess you’ll assuredly leave behind, and speak to his retreating form.

“I didn’t say anything. You know I’d do anything for you, Toshi.”

Your voice cracks when you voice your innocence and he stops walking. And you think for a second that Toshi will crack too. That he’ll turn around and look at you. Really look at you, and let himself relax. Drop his shoulders like he usually does when he comes home to you.

But he keeps walking.

“Clean yourself up.”


End file.
